


Assigned to Mickey Milkovich

by ronans



Series: Prompts [29]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Letters, M/M, Pen Pals, Skype, Ukrainian Mickey, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:33:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronans/pseuds/ronans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Prompt:</strong> Can you do an au where Ian and Mickey are from two different countries who get paired up as pen pals? - Anon</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assigned to Mickey Milkovich

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry if I messed up the way Mickey talks, I wasn't sure how to phrase everything

Ian honestly hadn’t given his school project much thought as it’d been over a month since he’d sent off his letter. Obviously he’d experienced the initial excitement of maybe making a friend from Ukraine, but, really, Ian’s been so busy with ROTC, work, and stopping Carl from setting the house on fire, that it’s kind of slipped to the back of his mind recently.

The project wasn’t worth anything grade-wise, but his teacher had explained that it would be good to reach out to their partner schools and branch out friendships with foreign students who were working on their English skills, or some bullshit like that. Ian actually loved the idea, writing out his letter the first day he’d been given his pen pal’s home address. But, yeah, that had been _over a month ago_.

Fiona frowns as she flicks through the mail, and Ian automatically assumes she’s worrying about overdue bills, until she holds up an incredibly wrinkled, water damaged envelope.

‘I think this is addressed to Ian Gallagher, but it’s kinda hard to look past the layer of…’ Fiona trails off, scrunching up her nose and vaguely gesturing to the letter. ‘…Ick.’

Ian cautiously smirks, because he’s not sure _why_ anyone would be sending him a letter, but he’s a little intrigued. He gets up from his seat at the breakfast table and takes the letter out of Fiona’s hand, giving it a closer look. Then he notices the way it's dotted with various stamps and then the word _Ukraine_ jumps out at him. He sucks in a breath and then grins, looking back up at a highly confused Fiona.

‘It’s from my pen pal.’ When her expression doesn’t change, he wiggles the letter in his hand and reiterates. ‘’Bout a month ago I was assigned a pen pal at school…?’

Fiona slowly inclines her head and then lifts her eyebrows. ‘Oh yeah, I remember.’

Ian rolls his eyes and starts up the stairs. ‘No you don’t!’ he calls over his shoulder. He’ll let it slide because Fiona has so much more shit to think about than just a random letter from a random kid in a random country. But Ian’s enthusiastic about this whole exchange again; it’s like all the excited feelings had been lying dormant up until now. What if he actually becomes friends with this guy? What if they’re able to maybe meet one day? Before he can get too far ahead of himself, he shakes his head and slumps down on his bed, shuffling backwards until his back hits the wall. Lip’s hunched over their desk, scribbling, and stays that way, not even acknowledging Ian’s presence as he tears open the envelope.

Ian’s smile morphs immediately into a scowl once he unfolds the letter.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Ian groans, glaring at the rumpled paper. At the sound of Ian’s voice, Lip looks up from where he’d been writing his essay.

‘What?’

Ian huffs out a sigh and hands the letter over to Lip to scan through. ‘It’s written entirely in fucking Ukrainian.’

‘This the pen pal thing?’ Lip raises his eyebrows and continues to rake his eyes over the page, grinning slightly. ‘Well, he _is_ from Ukraine. What did you fucking expect?’

‘We got told the other schools involved were all learning English!’

Lip squints and leans closer to the paper before frowning. ‘Is this just the same two words over and over again?’

Ian tilts his head and takes the letter back off Lip, reading through it. Fucking _seriously_? He turns his gaze to Lip who shrugs and fishes his phone out of his back pocket, shaking it.

‘Translator app?’

Ian lifts his right shoulder and nods, scooting closer to his brother so they can both look at the screen. Lip flicks his eyes back and forth between the cell phone and the (what appears to be) serial killer’s note, before he snorts just as Ian emits another groan.

‘ _Fuck this_ , _fuck this, fuck this, fuck this_ -’ Lip reads out before Ian shoves the side of his head and collapses on top of his bed. ‘Wow, this Mickey Milkovich seems like a real stand up guy.’

‘He seems like an un-cooperative dick,’ Ian grumbles huffily. Lip kicks his leg and then stands up, hovering over his younger brother.

‘You don’t get graded for interacting with this douchebag, right?’

Ian shrugs. ‘Teacher said it’d be good to help ‘em with their English studies but… nope. Purely for fun,’ Ian adds sarcastically. He’d really thought it would be.

‘Well then, fuck him. If he doesn’t want your help, don’t fuckin’ cater to him.’

Ian purses his lips and jostles when Lip slaps his leg because he’s not at appropriate kicking angle anymore, and then listens to Lip’s fading footsteps as he practically jogs out of the room. Ian sighs so forcefully, his fringe starts to fly around.

But he replies. Of course he fucking replies.

*

**_Mickey,_ **

**_Hey, it’s that asshole of a sophomore who sent you that letter, you know, a month or so ago. I was being serious, I want to get to know you, and saying ‘fuck this’ isn’t giving me much to go on._ **

**_Or I guess you can just ignore this if you really don’t give a shit. Whatever._ **

**_Ian Gallagher_ **

It’s about as eloquent yet pathetically short as he can manage and it gets sent off two days later, after Ian’s allowed himself the time to give his own envelope as much abuse as Mickey’s one had received.

*

Mickey, as it turns out, actually responds well to second attempts. And third attempts, and fourth attempts and so on. Of course there’s a mild delay as they send letters back and forth, for obvious reasons, but over the months they’ve sort of… built up a friendship. But Ian’s slightly nervous to call it that yet, simply because Mickey doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who has many friends.

The fifth letter Ian sends, he tries to get to know Mickey a little better, asking more questions. He thinks he’s maybe thawing Mickey’s usual rigid, distant responses with each letter.

*

**_Mickey,_ **

**_Do you even need me to write to?  I’m not saying I want this to stop, I mean, your English is really good and the reason we got paired up was so you could improve your writing. Do you have siblings who learn the language with you, or something? Are you thinking of visiting the U.S anytime soon? Are you learning English at school still? What grade are you in? I’m putting an American thing in with this letter so I’m hoping you’ll like it._ **

**_Hey! I got promoted at ROTC the other day. My family’s throwing a sort of party to celebrate, but I guess they’re just trying to find any excuse to get drunk and play loud music. Is your family like that? Gallagher family parties are always legendary and sometimes fucking annoying when I’m trying to sleep or do homework. Need to keep up my grades if I’m going to get into West Point, though. My brother Lip’s helping with that, but the ROTC promotion should work in my favor, I’m hoping._ **

**_Hope to hear from you soon :)_ **

**_Ian_ **

_Ian,_

_Calm down with the fucking questions. Jesus._

_Been learning English ~~since~~ a while. And my mother was obsessed with America, so, yeah I fucking know what a fucking five dollar looks like, you did not need to send it. And sure, I hire private jet to get to Chicago and stay in a fancy hotel because I’m rich. I don’t even have a computer, why the fuck else do you think I’m writing._

_I have loads of brothers and one sister, why do you care? We not exactly… ~~together~~ close. We do drink though. You’re a pussy about the sleeping through a party._

_Congratulations on ROTC thing. Don’t know what it means but yeah. What the fuck is a West Point?_

_Mickey_

*

Ian’s in the middle of writing his latest letter to Mickey when he feels Lip tug on his hair. His hand shoots up to cover the top of his now aching head and he sends Lip a nasty glare.

‘What the fuck?’

Lip parks himself on Carl’s bed and smiles. ‘You need a haircut, man. You’re becoming more and more like a scene kid every day. I’m just waiting for the day you dye it black.’

Ian narrows his eyes at his brother and smoothes down his mussed up fringe. He’s got to agree that it’s getting ridiculously long, and even his ROTC coach had mentioned it in passing last week. He presses his lips together and then exhales.

‘You think Fi would cut it for me?’

Lip elevates his eyebrows and opens his packet of cigarettes. ‘Sure, if you don’t mind walking around with half your scalp missing.’ He pauses, squinting and lighting his cigarette. ‘…Or a bowl cut.’

Ian smirks and steals the cigarette out of his brother’s mouth. ‘I think I could rock a bowl cut.’

Lip vigorously shakes his head, laughing at the mental image. ‘That already happened once when you were nine. I’m not letting you try to “rock” it again.’

He nods in agreement and chuckles, passing the smoke back to Lip before swivelling around to face his desk and finish off his letter, all the while wondering if his imminent haircut is something worth telling Mickey about.

*

Mickey sends him a photograph when Ian requests it. But he covers up his face with a middle finger salute. So Ian dons a beanie, to hide his new haircut, and a smug smile and sends a picture of a matching pose right back. Mickey tells him that it made him laugh, and Ian feels some weird sort of accomplishment at that information.

Ian’s moved onto _Mick_ name basis, even though Mickey vehemently protests the use of the nickname. At the start, Ian probably would have been shit scared at the tone of Mickey’s letters, but now he’s more… _endeared_ by it. Plus, Mickey can’t follow through on his half-assed threats while he’s all the way over in Ukraine.

Before Ian even realises, it’s been close to a year since they started up this back and forth messaging, and Mickey’s been the most consistent, joy-inducing part of his life in… _ever_. Ian’s found it so much easier to offload his feelings onto his pen pal than even his family members, and he can’t remember the last time he valued being the one someone decided to share their own feelings with so much.

So, they’re close, but it still comes as a bit of a shock to him when he sits at the table and opens Mickey’s latest letter. The feeling of butterflies he gets when there’s mail addressed to him never seems to go away, but they fucking soar in his stomach when he reads the tiny paragraph.

_Gallagher,_

_You got a computer, right? Just finally stole one. You got contact details? Cannot be fucked to mail every time. Skype is: mickmilk18_

_Mickey_

It’s probably the shortest letter Mickey’s ever sent to him, but it’s so promising, Ian’s absolutely beaming and out of his seat in seconds.

‘Debs, I need to use the laptop,’ Ian says breathlessly as he bursts into her room, because he’d been so excited to add Mickey as a contact that he’d run up the stairs. And _Mickey initiated this, he wants to keep in contact with Ian more regularly and easily_.

‘But I’m just-‘

‘Please, you don’t understand,’ Ian almost whines. Fuck, he’s eager.

Debbie frowns up at him and slams the laptop shut so hard Ian barely stops himself from wincing. If the screen’s cracked _now_ , of all fucking times, he’s going to be pissed. ‘Why’d you need it so bad?’

Ian swallows and stares at her for a moment. She knows about Mickey, of course she does. None of the household’s occupants have been able to escape Ian’s uncontrollable outpour of Mickey related topics. ‘Mickey wants to Skype with me.’

Debbie looks suddenly surprised, and Ian can’t really blame her. Whenever he’s relayed stuff Mickey’s said in a kinda dreamy voice, Debbie’s always been quick to repeat it back to him with no bullshit, outlining how un-dreamy what Mickey’s really saying is. She’s practical like that.

‘Wait, _he_ asked _you_ to Skype with him?’ Ian smiles and nods. ‘Maybe he’s more into you than I thought,’ she mumbles.

Ian’s previously excited emotions skyrocket. ‘Wait, you think he’s into me?’ He grabs her arm before she can stand up and leave the room.

‘Well, yeah, I guess. Or maybe he just wants to have friendly Skype sex,’ she mutters the last bit under her breath so quietly that Ian doesn’t catch it, gently extracting her arm from Ian’s grasp and strolling out of her bedroom, leaving the laptop on her bed.

Ian’s feeling more confident and hopeful now than ever before. He hadn’t been entirely sure, but he’d always thought he’d detected slight flirting between them. He thinks. Fuck, he doesn’t know, but maybe this will confirm it.

Shakily, he picks up the laptop and transfers it to his room. Carl’s in there playing with Ian’s Swiss army knife that Ian immediately confiscates.

‘Carl, how many times have I told you not to play with this shit?’ Ian laments, pocketing the small weapon.

Carl sighs so deeply his whole body sags. It almost makes Ian laugh, but he doesn’t have time for this right now. ‘You said it once, and I swear you told me it was a joke afterwards.’

Ian snickers and seizes his brother’s head like a grabber machine, turning him in the direction of the door. ‘I’m gonna lecture you about this later, but right now I need the room to myself, okay, bud?’

‘Why?’ Carl groans as he’s pushed out of the room against his will.

‘I’m talking to Mickey,’ Ian says with a hint of pride in his voice.

‘What, like, Skype sex? Is she hot?’

Ian’s cheeks go pink as he finally manages to shove Carl fully out of the door. ‘Mickey’s a dude, Carl, you know who he is. And we’re just talking. Two guys just talking,’ he desperately tries to explain.

‘Whatever,’ Carl grumbles, stomping down the stairs. Blissfully alone, Ian plugs the laptop charger into the wall and settles on his bed with the device. Thankfully, the screen’s unscathed and it doesn’t take long for him to open up Skype. The internet connection’s incredibly shitty, but at least Ian manages to sign in and add Mickey as a contact. He’s actually surprised at how fast his request gets accepted considering he hadn’t checked the time difference, nor had he expected Mickey to be waiting around for Ian to add him.

Ian’s ashamed to admit he actually jumps a little when the message notification pops up.

 **_mickmilk18:_ ** _this is gallagher right_

 **_iancg:_ ** _no, this is a different ian gallagher_

 **_mickmilk18:_ ** _…_

 **_iancg:_ ** _mickey it’s me_

 **_mickmilk18:_ ** _ok hi_

 **_iancg:_ ** _hi :)_

 **_mickmilk18:_ ** _…_

 **_iancg:_ ** _is that a thing you reply with a lot?_

 **_mickmilk18:_ ** _no i just dont knw what to say_

Ian bites his bottom lip, suddenly feeling a hell of a lot more nervous. What if this fucks everything up for them? What if Mickey ends up hating Ian, because reading a letter is a load different than listening to someone talk face to face? Ian’s had first-hand experience with this with an unfortunate note-passing-in-class-with-a-random-hot-guy situation. But Mickey’s different. They’ve been talking for a year, it’s not like Mickey’d just take off upon finding out Ian’s not that great in person… right?

He flexes his fingers over the keyboard and then decides to be bold and get this all over with.

 **_iancg:_ ** _you wanna video chat?_

 **_mickmilk18:_ ** _you think that would help?_

 **_iancg:_ ** _I mean I guess. It’d be nice to actually talk to you for once_

There’s a long pause and Ian’s just about ready to take everything back and slam his forehead repeatedly against the family laptop until it breaks into a thousand pieces, but Mickey finally starts typing a response.

 **_mickmilk18:_ ** _sure. u have to start it i dont know how to_

Ian finds himself biting his lip again because imagining Mickey struggling to work out how to use his new laptop is pretty adorable. And if Ian’s got this all wrong, he should probably cut out those kinds of thoughts. Ian clicks the video call button and breathes out slowly, waiting for the call to connect. When it does, Ian has to wait a few extra moments for Mickey’s face to appear. The pixelated image is so much better than any photograph Mickey’s sent him in the past, because this is _live_ , Ian can speak to him directly. Which reminds him, he should probably do the talking thing.

‘Hey,’ he says weakly.

Mickey nods and sniffs. ‘Ay. Nice dog tags, Gallagher.’

Ian’s mouth drops open and he grins at the same time. He probably looks fucking ridiculous with this expression but he’s having a hard time reeling it in.

‘’Fuck you lookin’ at?’ Mickey growls suspiciously after a few seconds of silence. It doesn’t have the intended effect, because the sound of his voice only makes Ian smile wider.

‘Uhm, I’m gonna say something that may make you mad.’

Mickey looks really confused, and Ian hadn’t envisioned the conversation going down this route so quickly, but here he is, diving headfirst into a pool of bad choices. But he needs to say this because it’s _so true_ and Ian’s been waiting to hear Mickey’s voice for a year. And if Debbie’s insight’s correct (which it rarely ever isn’t) then Mickey’s just as into this as Ian is. ‘What?’

‘Your accent’s really fuckin’ cute,’ Ian rushes out, but he still manages to sound confident. His smile grows even further when he notices Mickey’s started to blush.

‘Your accent’s really fuckin’ weird,’ he mumbles back, chewing furiously on his bottom lip. If Ian hadn’t already known he was crushing on Mickey, he definitely does now.

‘I know, it’s gross, but what can you do.’

Mickey scowls at him. ‘Never said it was gross.’

And, fuck, now Ian’s blushing, and it’s getting slightly weird. ‘Uhm, thank you?’

Mickey snorts and rolls his eyes. ‘No problem.’

Ian actually wants to slap himself in the face, he’s scrambling for something to say. He’s never had an issue with writing paragraphs on certain topics, or just rambling about his family, or his training, or his day in general, but he’s stuck now. In his panic to say something, _anything_ , he blurts out, ‘My brother was just playing with my Swiss army knife.’

Mickey’s frown deepens and holy shit, could Ian sound any more awkward and weird. ‘Uh, okay?’

Ian moans lowly and he thinks he saw Mickey twitch at the noise. Slightly reassuring, but hell if Mickey’s going to actually want to pursue anything long distance with Ian  _romantically_ , if Ian’s being this much of a freak. ‘I’ve fucked up by initiating a video call, haven’t I?’

Ian doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone with such expressive eyebrows as Mickey Milkovich. ‘Huh? No. I like this.’

And _that’s_ probably the most startling thing Ian’s heard all day. Especially because it’s _Mickey_ saying that. ‘You… what?’

Mickey uses one shoulder to shrug. ‘Yeah. It’s nice actually talkin’. Even if you’re weird.’ He smirks and does he actually look fucking _fond_ of Ian? Is Ian dead or dreaming?

‘Oh… Good,’ Ian responds awkwardly, but on the inside he’s lit up with happiness. It’s probably an over exaggerated feeling, but things are different wherever Mickey’s concerned.

‘Good,’ Mickey echoes, amused. He scratches the side of his nose. ‘You have training today?’

Ian warms at the fact that Mickey remembered, but he supposes it’s completely normal because they’ve been talking about shit like this for a year. ‘Nope.’

‘So you wear these everywhere?’

Ian draws his eyebrows together before he realises Mickey’s referring to the dog tags. ‘Oh, yeah.’ He looks a little more closely at the crappy quality picture of Mickey on his screen. ‘Hey, are you wearing some too?’

‘Uh huh. Thought they looked cool after, uh…’ Mickey gulps and shakes his head quickly. ‘After you mentioned army.’

Ian ducks his head and picks up his neck chain, playing with it to buy time to try and dampen his huge grin a little. Mickey coughs like he’s embarrassed.

‘Haven’t got much time to chit chat today,’ Mickey says, playing with a loose part of his hoodie sleeve. Ian smiles at the movement and drops his chain to run his hand through his hair, cupping the back of his own neck. He thinks he’s probably giving Mickey a good show of his arm muscles this way, too.

‘Chit chat? Wow,’ Ian mutters. ‘You really are cute.’

Mickey narrows his eyes at Ian. ‘I’m not cute, I could knock your fuckin’ teeth out.’

From the look on Mickey’s face, this is probably the first time someone’s directly laughed at one of his threats. ‘Yeah, okay, sure.’

Mickey lifts his middle finger up at Ian, which only makes Ian laugh harder. He can see Mickey’s barely stifling his own laughter.

Ian picks up on the faint sound of a female voice calling for Mickey as if on cue. Mickey head snaps up and he peers over his laptop screen. He exhales loudly and looks back at Ian. ‘Look, I gotta go, okay? Mandy’s callin’.’

‘Alright.’ Ian can’t help letting his feelings of disappointment bleed into his tone.

Mickey rolls his eyes again and shuffles in his place, jogging his laptop. ‘Calm down, Ian, I’m not leaving forever.’

Hearing his name being said out loud has never had such an effect on him, but, honestly, anything Mickey says to him has felt different than anyone else. He can’t believe he’s gone a year talking to Mickey without hearing his voice; it’s such a waste.

‘I hope not. Thought I might have freaked you out,’ Ian replies.

‘Nah, man,’ Mickey says, before his face disappears from Ian’s screen. The call ending is way too abrupt, but almost instantly a message pops up, and Ian figures Mickey’s just really shit with vocalizing goodbyes.

 **_mickmilk18:_ ** _you want to do the same thing tomorrow?_

~

Ian gazes at himself in the mirror as he brushes his teeth. He looks tired, but if he thinks about the reason why, he can safely say he’s exhausted in the best way. He spits out the toothpaste and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, turning off the mirror light he hadn’t really needed the aid of in the first place and then reaching for a white fluffy towel.

‘Guess what I found?’

Ian glances at the man via the mirror and carelessly throws the towel over the side of the sink. ‘What?’

‘Least use the fuckin’ towel hanger. No point in it if you don’t use it,’ Mickey reprimands, cuffing the back of Ian’s head. Ian grabs Mickey’s hand and pulls his boyfriend close. He presses a light kiss on the tip of Mickey’s nose and then nuzzles his cheek.

‘Promise I’ll use it next time.’

Mickey huffs out a quiet laugh and slips his arm around Ian’s waist, trailing his fingers up and down Ian’s back. ‘You say that every time.’

Ian pulls back and smirks down at Mickey. ‘Okay, okay. I can’t believe you’re actually lecturing me about keeping the apartment clean.’

Mickey shrugs and leans up to kiss Ian on the lips. When he draws back he holds up the hand not still placed on Ian’s back. ‘Guess what I found?’ he repeats. Ian stares at the ripped and creased piece of paper in Mickey’s hand and shakes his head.

‘I dunno, overdue tax bill?’

‘Nah,’ Mickey replies simply, clearly waiting for Ian to actually guess correctly.

‘I give up, what is it?’

Mickey rolls his eyes and then lets go of Ian so he can unfold it. ‘First letter you sent me.’

Ian squeezes his eyes closed in embarrassment. ‘Is it as bad as I remember?’

All Mickey does is lift his eyebrows and smile in an obviously amused way as he offers Ian the letter. Ian plucks it out of Mickey’s hand and speed reads through it, already cringing a little at his handwriting. He breathes out a laugh through his nose and shakes his head.

‘ _Can’t wait to get to know you_! _I love Ukraine_! Oh my god, I actually used exclamation marks,’ Ian groans, covering his eyes with his hand. Mickey sniggers and takes Ian’s hand away from his face and then keeps hold of it.

‘You gonna be ready to meet your sister in a half hour?’

Ian nods and shoots Mickey a half smile. ‘Yup.’

Mickey roughly kisses Ian’s cheek like he does it every day (which he does) and then starts to walk off. ‘Don’t be too long; I gotta use the shower,’ he calls over his shoulder before he disappears from view. Ian grins after him for a few moments before he looks back down at the letter he’s still holding. His smile becomes softer as his eyes take in the chicken scratch and the hopeful wording and the sentences he’d crossed out.

Fifteen year old Ian Gallagher hadn’t known what the fuck he was getting himself into.

**Author's Note:**

> God, that ending is so cheesy, I'm sorry  
> [I'm no longer taking prompts but you can still come and say hi here :)](http://southsidemilkovich.tumblr.com)


End file.
